


All I Ever Needed

by Philip_The_Poet



Series: Come Crashing In [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - High School, Ben Franklin shenanigans, F/M, Headaches & Migraines, Homophobia, M/M, Pining, Shopping Malls, but it's subconscious pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 22:44:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12970011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philip_The_Poet/pseuds/Philip_The_Poet
Summary: There was life and there was death and there was Thomas Jefferson, and in the shifting puzzle of everyone and everything, these proved without fail to be the only dependable truths.





	All I Ever Needed

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so uhH sorry this took me a month but I promise this series is still a thing! I highly suggest reading the first fic before this one, just a heads up (it's called 'All I Ever Wanted', in the same series). Enjoy!

_ 10:03 AM. _

Calculus was hardly Madison's favorite class on the best of days. And, although it wasn't necessarily the _worst_ of days at the moment, there were still about a million other places he could imagine that he would much, much rather be.

Madison clenched his teeth and reached deeper into his locker. Since the textbooks for calc had been in use since about '71, they'd been vandalized yearly since about '72, and Madison's particular copy had been missing a cover since at _least_ '75. What with it being crammed between books and folders and tissue boxes and discarded bags of cough drops, unearthing the stack of decaying paper that constituted the textbook was proving to be a time-consuming excavation.

Nevertheless, he plunged deeper.

He winced.

"I got it, I got you."

Madison blinked. Let himself get gently brushed away. An arm, a magenta satin jacket, a whiff of Brut aftershave, a flash of a gallant grin.

"You oughta quit shoving it so far in there, sugar."

Madison cracked half a smile, lightly nudging Jefferson aside. "If you were taking calc, you'd understand."

"As opposed to French?" Ever the francophile, Jefferson wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, no can do."

"My point exactly."

"You got me there."

The two exchanged an easy look.

Easy.

Everything was easy with Thomas— had been, too, for years and years and years. The natural flow and endless melody of their togetherness was soft and constant, the beating of a drum keeping time against the flitting trills and tunes of all else. There was life and there was death and there was Thomas Jefferson, and in the shifting puzzle of everyone and everything, these proved without fail to be the only dependable truths.

Easy.

Thomas's arm around his shoulders. Thomas's familiar voice, accent thick and sweet as the molasses in the pantry back in Virginia. Thomas's words, promising and lively as the crisp air of New York.

Easy.

Thomas. Meaningful and reliable and home. The whole world.

"Sorry the phone cut out yesterday." Jefferson crossed his arms, leaning against the locker next to Madison's. "My old man had a call with someone out of state."

"It's fine."

"You shoulda come over," he drawled, lips turned up lazily at the corners. "We made homemade mac and cheese, breadcrumbs and all."

"Disgusting."

"Hey, you eat it every time."

Madison smirked. "You got me there."

" _Touché_." Jefferson watched him haul all his books into his arms. Madison slammed the locker closed with one wool-covered shoulder. "Hey. You wore your favorite sweater today."

"I wore _your_ favorite sweater today." Madison glanced down at the navy blue mass of yarn encasing him. It was cable-knit, smelled heavily of his closet, and had a hole the size of a peach pit under one sleeve, yet it had long been Jefferson's favorite of Madison's.

He wondered sometimes if this was why he made a point to wear it twice a week.

"Well, it's the most colorful thing you own."

"I'm not a colorful person."

Jefferson scowled, plucking two or three books out of Madison's armful. "I disagree."

"Where's your evidence?"

"Come over after school and I'll tell you."

"I thought you had debate."

"Nope. I'm dipping." Jefferson winked. "You too busy?"

Madison shrugged. "Nope."

"Boss." Thomas gently bumped Madison's shoulder, beaming. "So you're headed for calc?"

"Yup."

"It's too early in the morning for that shit."

"True." Madison raised an eyebrow, shooting Jefferson a playfully testing glance. "Remember what happened last time we cut class?"

Jefferson split into that sweet, familiar, easy laughter. "I wasn't suggesting we try again."

"Did you ever get the stain out?"

"Never."

"Lord."

Madison watched the tiles beneath his feet as they walked. He and Jefferson had cut class once— it was during first semester of junior year when they had had physics class together, and that particular day, Jefferson had happened to be in the mood for a cherry Coke, Madison had happened to be in the mood for a change of scenery, and Jefferson's '82 Cadillac Seville had happened to be in the mood for spilling gas all over its owner. Upon their return to the high school for the next period, an impressive display of improvisational skills on the part of an oil-soaked Jefferson had managed to convince anyone who asked that he had been the unfortunate victim of an altercation in auto shop class.

"It's a, ah, a souvenir, eh?" Jefferson smirked. "At least it doesn't smell like oil anymore."

"I'd hope it doesn't."

"Well, don't go near Hamilton, then." He laughed harshly, brushing his arm against Madison's once again. "He has enough grease in his hair to make a boulder slide on pavement."

Madison raised his eyebrows. "Impressive."

"Isn't it?"

A cacophony of earsplitting peals rang through the hallway, cutting through the throngs of unenthused high schoolers like herds of cattle. Madison looked up from the tiles, eyeing Jefferson with a vague smile. "Why are you still in French class?"

"Hmm?"

"You're fluent. Why do you still do it?"

Jefferson pouted, shooting Madison a look that screamed out a resounding ' _duh_ '. "If we're goin' by _those_ standards, where's your diploma?"

Heat crept into Madison's cheeks. "Mm."

"See." Jefferson cracked a grin. "I got you there."

"Mmm."

"Can't deny it, bab— buddy." Jefferson blinked, seeming flustered for a split second before regaining his normal composure. They had stopped by the doorway of Madison's calculus classroom— as always, they would loiter until Jefferson remembered he had somewhere to be. "So. Uh. Meet you by my car after last period?"

"Yeah, I'll pencil you in," Madison replied, tone teasingly tentative.

"Aw, _promise_ me?"

"Yes."

Jefferson's grin stretched at the edges. The corners of his eyes folded into those easy, reliable, genuine laugh lines that always made Madison's heartbeat synch to the rhythm of that same old comfort.

"Sweet." Thomas slipped the few books he'd been carrying back in Madison's arms. "I'll, ah." In an odd imitation of a suave motion, he extended a hand and gave Madison's shoulder a gentle sort of clasp, plus a pat to the back for good measure. "I'll see you, then." He hesitated, light on his heels as if he were about to step closer, and ultimately decided against whatever that moment of thought may have entailed. Instead, he turned away, running on lanky limbs to chase the final remaining lingerers on his way to French class.

Madison gave a hint of a wave at Jefferson's retreating form. "See you."

The classroom was nearly full by the time he stepped in, and his usual seat behind Hamilton, Laurens, and Eliza Schuyler was unoccupied, just as he had been hoping to find it.

"... and so then I walk in the room. And I'm just saying, you know when you're _expecting_ something, and what you _get_ couldn't be an inch further from it?"

Laurens nodded. Any attempts to conceal how engaged he was in some combination of Hamilton's eyes and Hamilton's face and Hamilton's words were painfully fruitless. "Aha."

"So, I'm smelling sex and French perfume."

That being said, Hamilton had something in his eye for Laurens, too. Even with Eliza beside him, that spark was evident— so evident, in fact, that Franklin's gossip that fanned it into a flame didn't seem quite so unreasonable.

"Uh-oh."

"It smells like... Well, no, it's completely—" Hamilton leaned closer. "Anyway, so I'm like, damn, that's not Eliza in there."

"Ah, no," Laurens winced, expression caught in gleeful suspense. Madison dropped his books onto the desk, glancing up at the two boys.

"It's true! I put my ear to the door, you know, like"— Hamilton held a paper up to the side of his head to demonstrate —"And I'm like, 'yo, it's Alex!' And I open the door, and—"

Eliza squinted at Hamilton, half amused and half uncertain. "And?"

He lowered his voice and smirked at Lafayette, who was doodling intently at a desk or two to Eliza's right. "And let's just say that's way more of Peggy and Laf than I had any business seeing."

Laurens whistled. "Whoo!"

" _Christ_ , Alexander." Eliza laughed, leaning on his shoulder.

"Yo, Laf!" Laurens called. "Alex's got y—"

Hamilton lurched to his side, pressing a hand to Laurens' mouth and containing an impressive amount of laughter. "Bag your face! Shut up!"

Lafayette looked up from his notebook, eyeing the spectacle before him with unknowing enthusiasm. "Hmm?"

"Alexander was just saying that he walked in on an intimate moment between you and my sister the other day," Eliza interjected, her lips curved into a smooth smile, "And that he apologizes for intruding. Right?"

Hamilton shot him a grin. "Exactly."

"Ah." Lafayette smiled warmly. "In that case, I thank you lots. I might still ask why you are strangling John, however."

From his seat in the back row, James Monroe deadpanned, "It's purely sexual, Frenchy."

"Try me, Monroe. I fucking dare you." Hamilton raised his voice, staring daggers at Monroe before turning abruptly and shooting a pointedly unbothered look at Laf. "Hey, why don't you sit over here?"

"Oh. Not enough seats. I could try, I suppose."

"Yeah, there's an empty one by Madison. I think John Jay's out sick, so you should be good." Laurens, finally free of Hamilton's restraint, pointed behind him with the flick of a thumb. "Haul ass on over here."

"Would you mind, James?" Eliza turned in her seat, offering him a polite smile.

Madison blinked. "Oh. Uh. Go ahead."

"Ah!" Lafayette scooped up his notebooks and his calculator, practically skipping to the seat beside Madison.

"Thanks," Laurens nodded at him. He nodded back.

Lafayette grinned at him warmly, plopping down into his new seat. "I do, uh, owe you one, as you say."

Madison shrugged. "It's fine."

"Actually, you owe Jay one for catching pneumonia." Hamilton turned around, engaging Laf in an elaborate handshake. Madison glanced away, skimming through his textbook.

"Damn, I got second lunch block today." Laurens blew a few stray hairs away from his forehead and draped himself over the back of his chair. "Anyone else?"

Laf nodded. "Hercules does. He has home economics for lunch period."

"The first student to take home ec _and_ shop class." Hamilton smiled. "Brand-new, huh?"

"Uh huh." Eliza tapped his shoulder jokingly. "So when are you taking home ec?"

"Once I finish learning calculus, Latin, European history, chemistry, classic literature, and physics, I guess," Hamilton replied indignantly.

Laurens furrowed his brow, glancing at the empty desk at the front of the room. "Yo, is Doc Mont ever coming in, or—"

As if on cue, the classroom door slammed and in stalked Doctor Montgomery, the only qualified calculus teacher Madison's high school had ever hired. He had a scar on his neck from a nearly-fatal gunshot wound he'd gotten in what he cryptically referred to as "the war" and a stone-cold attitude to boot. Regardless, his calculus credibility was through the roof, and the wall above his desk was peppered with prestigious awards he'd been given by teacher's associations and mathematical organizations from across the east coast.

Montgomery slid his briefcase onto the desk. "We're starting on page two-eighty-nine. If we don't get to three-hundred by the end of class, you finish what we didn't complete by the start of class tomorrow. Understood?"

Unenthusiastic nods from all around. He continued. "We're five minutes behind schedule. Get a move on."

Madison obliged, absentmindedly leafing through the sorry excuse for a textbook Jefferson had helped him retrieve before class. Page 289 had an elaborate collage drawn on it in half-dead ballpoint pen— it was rather impressive, comprised entirely of vulgar words spelled out in bubble letters, cartoon flowers, and abstract genitalia, all of which spanned across the very practice problems Madison was required to complete.

He stifled a groan.

Unless.

Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that Lafayette had switched seats today, for when Madison glanced over at his desktop, he was delighted to find his textbook in passably good condition, cover and all. Laf was back to doodling in his notebook, though, so the necessary math problems were, at the moment, largely neglected. Madison peeked at what he was scrawling.

Various flowery cursive variations of Peggy's name combined with his own stretched across the margins, surrounded by rough sketches of buildings and monuments that Madison could only assume were a mix of American and French. He wondered subconsciously if Jefferson would have been able to name them all if he were present.

"... and we'll go over the first five problems at... ah... quarter to eleven. Good luck."

Madison leaned over. "Mhmm."

Lafayette looked up, dazed as if he had been woken from a trance. " _Qu'est-ce qui se passe_?"

"Shh," he whispered, "Can I look on with your textbook?"

Laf smiled and nodded. He scooted a little closer, sliding his textbook with him so that Madison didn't have to strain to see.

It didn't take long to fall into a pattern. Predictably, there were occasional distractions— Hamilton would snicker a little too loudly at a note Laurens passed to him, or Monroe would snore while napping and incur the wrath of Montgomery, or Eliza would sneeze, or Maria Reynolds would drop her pencil, but for the most part, it wasn't difficult for Madison to focus.

_Problem one._

He scratched out the problem in his notebook, thoughts slowly drifting. Maybe the Jeffersons had leftover mac and cheese from the night before. He liked to act like it was disgusting, and it was— whoever allowed Thomas to cook was absolutely batshit. But there was something calming and homely about the taste that made Madison _crave_  it. It was disgusting, but it was Thomas's, and it was _good_ because of that.

Lafayette's pencil broke. He stood to go sharpen it.

_Problem two._

If calculus weren't going to help him get into college, Madison would have switched into French two years ago rather than pursuing harder math classes. The course work would have been more interesting, for sure. He would have a class with Thomas, too. Maybe Thomas would ask Madison to stay over this upcoming weekend. He often did; there was plenty of room in his bedroom for the two of them, and it was always nicer to fall asleep near Thomas than at home in his own room. Well, it wasn't _Madison's_ fault— his radiator at home was broken, and it was much more comfortable in Thomas's room. Plus there were more books. And Thomas always let him sleep in. And there was always enough coffee for him in the kitchen. And Thomas always looked delightfully goofy in the morning. And...

Monroe's pen dragged a long line across his paper as he slept on the desk. Madison saw Montgomery watch him with irritation boiling in his eyes.

_Problem three._

Maybe Thomas had been practicing something new on his violin. He'd played the thing for as long as Madison could remember— it was the last thing loaded into the car when the Jeffersons packed to move and it was the first thing out when they arrived in New York. Last spring, he had written Madison a short song for his birthday, played it for him as a gift, and played it again the next day just because he said it made him think of home.

It made Madison think of home, too.

The fields. The buildings that were made of bricks, not wood or concrete. The way the stars gleamed in the night sky without the city or the cold to interrupt their light. Thomas's song had sounded like home, just like his voice and his laugh and that little smile when he said " _James_ ".

Laurens whispered something in Hamilton's ear. Madison glanced up, found the latter blushing, looked back down again.

_Problem four._

Although, admittedly, a very small amount of Madison's brainpower went to thinking about Hamilton and Laurens and whatever went on between them, what little mind he paid them was often driven by confusion as to why they didn't endeavor to hide themselves better. Surely they must have known how obvious they were, and surely they must have _cared_ , after all. Hamilton certainly had no conception of subtlety, but Laurens had every reason to be reserved.

No, hadn't they both every reason to be reserved?

They must have known people like Franklin and Monroe and— and yes, even _Thomas_ were tearing them to shreds for that abnormal amorous connection they shared. They must have known plenty; they were far from stupid. But nevertheless their publicity seemed beyond their notice, beyond even their control.

Madison didn't find it offensive, not like people like Monroe did.

He only thought it painfully unwise.

Maybe Thomas felt the same way.

_Problem five._

 

  
• • •

 

  
_ 3:03 PM. _

The steps leading down from the main entrance to the high school were concrete, pouring into a similarly concrete walkway flanked on either side by poorly-kept expanses of grass and dying willow trees. The sun often glazed the tops of these trees and beamed down at just the right angle on the doorway to make walking in or out of the building feel like a trek to hell or heaven, respectively.

Madison leaned on the door, pushing it open with a slight struggle, and emerged into a beam of blinding sunlight that forced him to squint in an abominably unflattering manner. (To be fair, however, Madison doubted he had much to flatter.) Loiterers on the stairs paid little mind to him as he paced briskly past them to where he knew Jefferson would be. The air was prickling with the light chill of early northern autumn, a cool breeze working across the sky to complement the silver sunlight of mid-September, and although the early arrival of the winter months didn't upset Madison nearly as much as it did Jefferson, it was still unpleasant to think that within a week his world here in New York would look like Virginia's November.

Jefferson was exactly where Madison was expecting to find him: leaning against his car, parked only a little ways down the road, talking with Ben Franklin.

"... but someone would catch on after a couple go-arounds, for sure."

"Fair." Franklin squinted in thought. "But with those couple go-arounds, you'd have earned, what, thirty bucks? Enough dough for some better stash, at least."

"But what's thirty to fifty or sixty or an entire business?" Jefferson split into a sly grin. "You want it to last, and you don't wanna get caught."

"Maybe... if you... huh."

"Oh, if you shift the hinges, then—"

"Oh!"

"Yeah! If you shift the hinges and make the pen a little different on one side, you'll come out with different handwriting."

"Untraceable."

"Undetectable."

" _Now_ you're talking, Jefferson." Franklin reached a hand in his jacket, pulling a scratched metal flask out from somewhere inside. He raised it to the sky in a toasting gesture. "I'll drink to that."

Jefferson laughed, glancing around to check for onlookers— and was promptly greeted by the sight of Madison nearby.

"James! C'mere, didn't know you were ready to go yet." Jefferson's smile was warm and broad. Familiar. Madison relaxed a little.

"What's the invention this time?" He shifted his books to one arm.

"Oh." Jefferson's eyes gleamed in the papery light. "It's this thing with two sides— you put a paper on each one, right and left. There's also this apparatus for pen holders, and you put in whatever you wanna write with for each side. Then when you write on one side, it'll copy while you're doing it right onto the other paper, too."

"Ah. Clever."

"We're planning on altering one side so it looks like different handwriting, though," Franklin added, "So then we can get people to pay us for doing their math homework for 'em."

"Impressive, actually." Madison nodded. "Is that what the National Honor Society preaches?"

"I'll say. If genius business isn't honorable, then what the fuck is?"

Jefferson chuckled. "You know he's just bein' cynical, airhead."

"Hey, fair enough." Franklin grinned, bringing his flask to his lips. "You know, I think about this all the time— I think there's a God up there."

Jefferson cocked an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh ho? And why's that?"

Franklin swallowed a swig. "Wine. Wine's constant proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy."

Madison blinked. "That's wine in that flask?"

"Oh, hell no, don't be ridiculous," Franklin dismissed, "This is scotch."

Jefferson reached out a hand, swatting Franklin's shoulder teasingly. "That's plenty. Get off my car, bum-ass, I have places to be."

Franklin stood, preparing to be on his way down the sidewalk as Madison tossed his belongings into the backseat and hopped in shotgun.

"If it's a date, be sure to give her my number!"

"You wish," Jefferson replied, waving at Franklin's retreating form. "See you tomorrow."

"Later, loser!"

Thomas was laughing ever so slightly as he plopped into the driver's seat. He slammed his door and shoved his key into the ignition.

It was another moment still before he turned to James, heavy smile plastered on his face.

"Hey there, honeybee."

James grabbed the crank near his knee, rolling the window closed. "Long day?"

"I missed you."

"You're a ridiculous person." Madison laughed quietly. "You know that?"

"Shh, shh, don't tell everyone else," Thomas teased, draping himself over his steering wheel a little more with every passing second, "That's our secret."

"Uh-huh, tough guy."

He flexed weakly. "You know it."

"You look exhausted."

"I had class with Hamilton last period and an essay due in two days." Jefferson eyed him wearily. "Cut me some slack, Jemmy."

"Okay, okay." James watched him for another moment, just decompressing. Thomas never did this in public— the only person Thomas ever truly, completely let his guard down around was James. On the one hand, it was nice to know that he was trusted enough for this, but on the other, it would have also been nice to be on their way far from the school by this point. "You wanna get out of here?"

"Oh." Thomas blinked, nodding. "Yeah. I just..."

"It's okay."

"No, no, I'm..." He rubbed his forehead roughly with his palm.

"Another headache?" James raised an eyebrow.

Thomas pursed his lips. He reached over and switched the radio on. "Yeah. Let's jet."

The car kicked into motion, the sound of the motor blending with the tinny tone of the radio blasting out from the speakers. James grimaced. "Maybe _that's_ why you've got a headache."

Thomas laughed vaguely. "Don't turn it down."

Madison let it be. He had only been joking, anyway— he'd known about Jefferson's migraines since they'd begun happening in the fifth grade, and especially since their frequency had increased the previous winter. Since Thomas was upright and speaking comprehensibly, James deemed it safe to assume that this was day one of the headache, and if the pattern continued as it always had, tomorrow and the day after would be the worst of the cycle until the pain fully subsided in five or six days.

To be frank, he had grown used to Thomas's migraines. He had grown used to spending a night or two over at Thomas's house while he was in the throes of one. He had grown used to letting Thomas wrap him up in his arms, pulling him close to ease the pain like an injured soldier biting a bullet to stop from crying out.

Jefferson's voice cut through the comfortable silence, velvety in the air between them. "I like this song."

Madison leaned an elbow on the window.

_Moving forward using all my breath_

_Making love to you was never second best_

James glanced over at Thomas. His silhouette was outlined, all midnight sky and silver and gold against the pale light of the window. It was open, letting in that autumn breeze and blowing his hair in some perfectly imperfect frenzy behind him.

The car lurched forward a little. James would be the first to admit that Thomas had never been (and would likely never be) a good driver.

Thomas thumbed the volume dial. He cleared his throat, clarifying, "'I'll Melt With You'. Modern English."

_I saw the world crashing all around your face_

_Never really knowing it was always mesh and lace_

Thomas hummed along to the melody, a soft, low tone somewhere in the back of his throat. A breath, sharp through his nose every few notes. One, two, three, four. He was clenching his teeth. James could see it in the set of his jaw.

_I'll stop the world and melt with you_

He tapped a finger on the steering wheel. Just a little restless at heart, as he always was (and would likely always be). James smiled. Some things never change.

_You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time_

"Can't believe it's already September."

"It has been." Madison turned, watching through his window. Sidewalk. Parked cars. Trees. Houses and grass and pedestrians. "For a few weeks."

"It's crazy, though. Doesn't it feel like it was June, like, a week ago?"

Madison closed his eyes for a moment. His clearest memory of June was Jefferson's proposal of all the goals he had for the summer— read a shelf full of books he'd acquired, take James on a road trip, write at least two songs, figure out new uses for the various items that were stacked in a pile in his garage... The summer had felt long. Thick like a mouthful of honey. Soft like the northern sunsets that faded lazily into pastels behind the trees in the backyard. The time had been warm and slow. "June was forever ago."

"Forever?" Jefferson laughed airily. "Forever's too long for that much."

"Wow. I never thought I'd be hearing 'forever's too long' out of _your_ mouth," Madison teased.

Thomas grinned. The lines around his eyes and the ones beside his smile ran deep. "Okay, okay."

_And there's nothing you and I won't do_

Jefferson attempted to whistle along to the song, failing with a hiccup.

"Smooth."

He shot James a humorous look. "Psshh. I wasn't trying."

"B.S."

A sigh through a smile. "You got me there, darlin'."

_I'll stop the world and melt with you_

The car turned a sharp right, the tires screeching on the pavement.

Still, Madison watched out the window. New York City's suburbs were a different world from the one he'd grown up in. The people talked differently. The sun shone differently. The time passed differently. The horizon was too close, the sun setting over tall trees and rooftops instead of grass and land.

Sidewalk. Parked cars. Trees. Houses and grass and pedestrians.

Jefferson's house flew past, there and gone in a few seconds.

Madison glanced over at him.

Thomas accelerated a little, just for the thrill of it, or perhaps to send more wind flowing in through the window. The smile was gone— he looked calm. Thoughtful.

"I didn't want to go home." His abrupt explanation was hollow, lacking substance or reason. "Where d'you wanna go?"

James didn't feel like questioning it. "I dunno. Wherever."

A smile played on Jefferson's lips, teasing at the corners. "Wherever."

He had nice lips. Well. Madison didn't exactly have criteria to base this assumption off of, but he figured, logically, that whatever good lips were, Thomas's fit the bill.

Maybe. Or something. It didn't matter, anyway.

"I don't care."

"Okay." Thomas cracked a full grin. "How 'bout we be mall-maggots for a day?"

Madison let out a short laugh. "If you buy, I'll fly."

Jefferson nodded, speeding up once again.

Simple as that.

Easy.

Everything was easy with Thomas. Comforting and complete and home and easy.

Jefferson reached over and turned the volume dial a little further still.

_The future's open wide_

Easy.

_The future's open wide..._

 

  
• • •

 

  
"For your birthday, I'm getting us those."

"Thomas."

"No, no, I'm serious— can you imagine it?" Jefferson spread his hands out as if he were displaying some glorious work of art in midair. "We walk downstairs, regally, walking sticks and all. Side by side, we stride to the kitchen—"

"Thomas."

"— and I greet the lovely Mrs. Madison with a charming quip. She's washing a plate over the sink, and upon hearing our entry, she turns—"

"Thomas."

"— and _crrrack_. She drops the plate in sheer shock, wonder, pride, and amazement—"

"Thomas Jefferson."

"— at seeing us arm in arm in _these_."

Jefferson gestured theatrically at the two mannequins before them, decked out in matching sequined, skin-tight, _blindingly_ fuchsia sweatsuits.

Madison only stared at him.

"Thomas Jefferson."

He smiled expectantly. "Yes?"

"If you purchase these or anything remotely resembling these, I'm telling Ben Franklin that you had a threesome with Alexander Hamilton and Eliza Schuyler."

Jefferson raised both eyebrows. "Oh."

"Stone cold sober, in broad daylight."

He winced. "Harsh, are we?"

"And _enjoyed_ it."

Without another word, Jefferson turned on his heel and stalked out of the store as fast as his feet could carry him.

To both of their satisfaction, the mall wasn't too crowded for a Wednesday afternoon. The two had been able to wander around departments and shops and storefronts at their leisure for a good while, and they had, by some stroke of luck, thus far not seen or been bothered by anyone they knew from school. Although Madison would have been content to go home with Thomas and read or relax, he was grateful for the distraction from schoolwork and the social obligations tied to being in town— the change of scenery was, for once, a welcome change.

"Hey."

Madison glanced up from his shoelaces to find Jefferson eyeing him lazily, struck dumb with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Yeah?"

Thomas absently rubbed his forehead. "Remember that time in junior high when you were over at my place and your parents wanted you home 'cause your aunt was coming with your uncle or somethin', and we went and hid outside so you didn't have to go?"

James squinted. "Yeah. I remember."

"And, and I tripped, sprained my wrist—"

"— 'cause you were trying to jump over that little fence and you fell—"

"— right—"

"Right into me," Madison recalled, sharing an amused look with Jefferson. "And we fell into a tomato plant."

"Ruined your shirt, too." Thomas laughed.

James nodded. "And it got all up in your hair."

"Hah." There was a peaceful pause, a gentle nostalgia filling the air. "I was just... Thinkin' about how long ago that was."

"That was four or five years ago." Madison shrugged. "Shit."

Jefferson slowed his walking pace, hooking his thumbs in his jeans' pockets. "That was forever ago."

The fields. The buildings that were made of bricks, not wood or concrete. The way the stars gleamed in the night sky without the city or the cold to interrupt their light. Home. Comfort. Thomas.

Easy.

Madison nodded again. "Yeah."

Thomas's smile was warm and out of focus, a homely, golden feeling. "Yeah."

James coughed into his fist. A Sam Goody came and went to their left, overrun with junior high schoolers lugging records and bumping into college-age employees. Shortly after, a Spencer Gifts was coming up on their right, the storefront packed with whatever new prank gadgets they had rolled out for the beginning of a new school year. He and Thomas didn't come to the mall terribly often, but they came often enough to know it was always more or less the same.

"Are you hungry?"

James shrugged. "I'm fine."

"I'd love to treat you," Jefferson continued, eyeing him with a vague smile, "Sure you don't want a pretzel or something?"

James cocked an eyebrow at him. "You don't have to buy me stuff. I have, like, twenty bucks on me."

"It's a friendly gesture, Jem, c'mon." Thomas laughed, exasperated. "Amuse me."

Madison shifted left to avoid an old woman carrying two armfuls of overstuffed shopping bags. "Fine, okay, fine."

"Your wish is my command, dear sir."

"I could go for something to drink."

Thomas grinned.

It was that same grin he'd been grinning since the day they met and it was that same grin that looked like home, like comfort, like him.

James couldn't help but smile back.

Some things never change.

So, at Jefferson's suggestion, the pair embarked on a journey across the mall to the food court. And, one trek later, Madison found himself seated across from Thomas, two bottles of Coke and a slightly grimy little table between them.

"So. Monroe and Kortright."

Jefferson was reclining in the cheap metal chair he'd chosen upon their arrival. Madison tilted his head. "What about them?"

"Your thoughts?"

"Oh." He inspected a few of his fingernails. "They get on my nerves."

"Right?" Jefferson nodded, already jumping on the opportunity to agree. "They just... don't work."

"Incompatible," James agreed, response complete with a passive shrug.

"It's just that they're either glued together by the tongue, or they're not even looking at each other."

"Fair." Madison sipped his soda thoughtfully. "Has he ever talked about her? As a person?"

"Nope, not even." Jefferson leaned an elbow on the table, massaging his temple in little circles with his thumb. "It's always 'bet you haven't gotten it as much as I have with Liz' and 'boning on her waterbed is—'"

"'Boning on her _waterbed_ '?" Madison choked on a sip of Coke.

"Yeah, he's always talkin' about it. And it's like, hey, that's _really_ all he's after. The getting-horizontal part."

"Ahah," Madison shot him a dry smirk, "And Franklin?"

"Franklin only wants sex, too, but at least he's honest about it." Thomas clenched his teeth. "No 'I love you's and no buying-a-promise-ring-after-a-month."

"Damn."

"Yup. If you're gonna be a sweet-talker, you better mean it."

James spared Thomas a curious glance. He seemed set on this, his expression tense with assertion.

"Ah." James took on a subtly teasing tone. "And what about you, mister I-fucked-Maria-Cosway-back-in-July?"

Thomas blinked, raising his eyebrows defensively. "No, I meant what I said to her."

"Which was what, out of curiosity?"

"That it was fun and that it was all casual."

"So you're like Franklin, then?" James took a drink from Thomas's bottle.

"No."

"But—"

"No. He fucks anyone who'll let him. And any time he feels like it, he'll find somebody willing to do it, so that's pretty much all the time. _That's_ Franklin." Thomas tugged absentmindedly on one of his sleeves. "I'm not trying to find a girl at the moment. It's all about pursuit. _He's_ pursuing, _I'm_ not. So. There."

Madison nodded slowly, watching him.

Jefferson looked right back, rubbing the center of his forehead relentlessly.

"You mean it."

"I do."

"Huh." James leaned back in his seat. Crossed his arms. "Guess you'll find someone without looking someday."

Jefferson laughed a humorless laugh— the sound carried some strange tone on it, heavy and dark like old molasses. "Speaking of which. Are you gonna get with Dolley?"

Madison felt his ears get hot. He swallowed what was left of his soda, carefully avoiding Jefferson's eyes. "Should I?"

"Do you like her?"

"I mean... If Burr's for real about _her_ liking _me_... I guess..."

"But do _you_  like _her_?"

James hesitated.

Liking.

Loving, even.

It's supposed to feel warm and soft and heavenly inside, like the whole world lights up whenever you see them. It's supposed to take up your conscience, take up your thoughts, take up your emotions. It's supposed to make you ache in separation and live for the feeling of being together. It's supposed to feel right, so right, so perfectly and angelically _right_.

It didn't feel like that with Dolley. It wasn't _like_ that.

It wasn't right.

They weren't right.

The corners of Jefferson's mouth turned up little by little into a knowing smile. Madison's silence was enough of an answer to match a thousand words.

Abruptly leaning in and picking up his near-finished Coke, Thomas raised it up in a toast. "I thought so."

James clenched and unclenched his jaw, lifting his own bottle. "Mm."

"To the two of us."

"To the two of us."

Thomas grinned.

It was that same grin he'd been grinning since the day they met and it was that same grin that looked like home, like comfort, like him.

Meaningful and reliable and home. The whole world.

Easy.

 

  
• • •

 

  
_ 8:03 PM. _

"I want to take you there someday."

"I don't speak French."

"I'll teach you."

"I don't travel."

"I'll help you."

"I don't... know."

"Trust me." Thomas stretched his back a little more, spreading himself out as much as he could over the passenger seat. James glanced over for a flicker of a moment before returning his gaze to the road. "Trust me. It's beautiful there. The people, the language, the buildings, the air. _Fuck_ , James, the air. I wanna take you all through Paris, it's so gorgeous, it's so... You'll love the food, too, and the nighttime... it's beautiful. Just trust me. Someday."

James laughed. Shook his head a little.

"Someday." Thomas readjusted again, laying one forearm across his forehead. "I swear."

"Okay."

"Lafayette's so damn lucky."

"Hmm?"

He let out a groan that was more of a whimper. James winced— Thomas's migraine was worsening sooner than usual. "He's _actually_ French. I would die a hundred times to be a real Parisian."

"Really? All that much?"

"Mmm. Even more."

Madison looked over at him again. Some odd godliness played on the lines and curves of his features, softly illuminated in the glow of the late afternoon sky and the streetlights outside. Hair flying in every which way, matted in the back against the headrest, but still. Godly.

"How do you think Laf and Peggy got together?"

James looked back at the road. "I'd assume he asked her out."

"Oh, helpful. Very helpful, James, very." Thomas reached over, weakly swatting at James's shoulder. "No, but really."

"I think... Oh. I think they got together 'cause Mulligan brought Lafayette into that little posse, and then since Hamilton and Eliza were— _are_ a thing, he met the Schuylers, and I think he asked her out in broken French about a year and a half ago."

Jefferson raised his eyebrows, raising his chin and staring at Madison. "I'm impressed. You _actually_ know."

Madison waved him off. "I sit behind them all in calculus. Hear a lot."

"Hamilton and Laurens are in your calc class? Together?"

"Yup. _Very_ together."

" _Fuuuck_." Thomas pressed down on the bridge of his nose, rocking back and forth just slightly in his seat. "They're fucking idiots, huh?"

"Hmm?"

"They're idiots, flouncing around and... and being all plain-as-day right there in front of the whole world... load of boneheads..."

"What if Laurens was a girl?" Madison offered, a hypothetical spark of a question lighting the air between them.

"No, no, no, it's not even that, I..." Thomas inhaled sharply through his nose. "It's that _we_ know about it."

"Well. Rumors only grow."

"It's not a rumor if it's just plain PDA, darlin', c'mon."

James took a wide turn to get onto the highway. "Okay. Good point."

"It's just that... if any of us did that, like. Like, Franklin, or Burr. If one of us did, we'd never be able to show our faces again." Thomas groaned lowly again. James shivered. "I don't _get_ it. Aren't they terrified? Aren't they completely _terrified_?"

A thoughtful silence fell.

Terrified.

Were they terrified?

Tentatively, James spoke. "Maybe they're just... willing to face the consequences."

"It's not about the consequences." Thomas's voice was dry and hard. Crudely silver, erratically electric against the hum of the highway. "Anyone could be willing to face the consequences. They— they're just dickweeds. They're— they're morons. Idiots. I'm..."

Jefferson's words faded out. He clenched his fists. Stock still.

Cried out.

James flinched. "You're almost home, hang in there."

Jefferson bent forwards, cradling his head in his hands.

Tense silence.

Madison gave him a moment, driving forwards and carefully switching lanes. Breathe. In, out. One, two, three, four.

Thomas cleared his throat. "Thank you. For driving."

"Mm hmm."

Another moment passed. Thomas's breathing was slow. Conscious. Timed.

"I'm gonna miss you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He attempted a nod, sucking in a harsh breath to counteract the pain it caused. "It's... Jemmy?"

"Thomas."

"We got your favorite ice cream at home."

"'s that so."

"And I... you know, I washed that blue blanket you always use. And I think you mighta left your t-shirt in my room last time you came over, so it's not like you w—"

One corner of James's mouth twisted up into a smile. "I'll stay over."

"... so you can wear those and I made tea last night, it's nice and cold and I added enough sugar and my bed's made up and my m—"

"I'll stay over, Thomas."

"... and I'll let you sleep and everything, I'm just gonna miss you so much and I need s—"

" _Thomas_. I'll stay."

Jefferson fell silent for a moment. "You will?"

James had grown used to Thomas's migraines. He had grown used to spending a night or two over at Thomas's house while he was in the throes of one. He had grown used to letting Thomas wrap him up in his arms, pulling him close to ease the pain like an injured soldier biting a bullet to stop from crying out.

Maybe sometimes he enjoyed being needed like that, too.

"Yes."

Thomas let out a sigh— airy, light, almost peaceful. "You're an angel. My Jemmy. My darling."

Thomas's arm around his shoulders. Thomas's familiar voice, accent thick and sweet as the molasses in the pantry back in Virginia. Thomas's words, promising and lively as the crisp air of New York.

Right. Perfectly, angelically _right_.

"Shut up, you'll hurt your head."

Thomas Jefferson. _His_ friend, _his_ Thomas Jefferson.

Meaningful.

Reliable.

Easy.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry/you're welcome for not turning the "easy" repetition into a dick joke with "hard".
> 
> Comments and kudos make every hour I spend writing these things so, so worth it. Please don't hesitate to drop me a line! <3


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